My hoodie never looked so good. Real blam blam while that white sand crunched beneath her feet. - Where did your head go? - I can only see your face. - God you have beautiful eyes, you know that?

- We should go. They kept saying. I said alright and made sure I wore my thongs on the fire trail. Clever sticks spiking up out of nowhere. Jab jab like long knives in the temperate bush. There was no reception. - Leave the phones at home. Who will call while we're there? - We're not here to call. - Just talk a little louder if they can hear you yet.

Beach bum leaves stroked my face day in day out for twenty minutes as we walked. Mitch's leathery feet just put up with the underground jousting. Four or maybe five of us decided to go. - I've come down here, I'm going to make sure I spend as much time near that water. - Even more in it. The rest stayed, afraid of rain. A chance of showers. But it was mostly fine. You'll only notice the strong winds on the coast. Gale warning and the water was empty, of people and least. Who knows about the fish.

That sand it stings your calves, reels your heels and runs along the beach like a sheet stripped from a bed. The ocean beats its head against the rocks. Your face, like a rock, slowly wearing away from wind and that face wash and too much kissing. I paused the walk for a photo just because she looked so nice. Fill the frame. Forget to focus. Manual is all we had. Sand crept between the focus ring but the film still wound around. The sun shone through white clouds and there you were in my purple jumper. Purple perfect on the sand.